


Feed Me

by Carrogath



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21553117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carrogath/pseuds/Carrogath
Summary: And Edelgard would, if only Dorothea would let her.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 4
Kudos: 94





	Feed Me

A long time ago, Edelgard resolved to take anything she wanted without remorse—by cajolery, by diplomacy, by intimidation or by force, but always without apology and never without conviction. She swore to herself to cultivate an indomitable will, such that no person would ever dream of standing against her again. She would harden her heart and steel her nerves. She would sculpt her ragged, damaged body into the perfect physical specimen. Her mind, her cunning, and her willpower, once honed, would all prove second to none—for she would be not only the greatest Emperor, but also the last.

Her reign would be bold, revolutionary, the people free to speak their minds and the power stripped from the upper classes and distributed equally among the common folk. Social and economic injustice would be a thing of the past. Higher education and fine arts would be suitably patronized, banks closely regulated, roads maintained, ships protected, borders secured, vows fulfilled. Edelgard was well on her way to making the first few tentative steps toward the brave new future she had sworn to those under her command, to bearing witness to everything she ever had sought to accomplish, to seeing what had once been nothing more than a petty fantasy conceived in a rank, fetid prison cell blossom into reality. The empire was in the midst of a grand reformation. Edelgard was the rightful Emperor of a vast and fruitful territory. She was respected; she was revered. She could have anything she wanted.

Except this.

“No,” said Dorothea, lounging on a plush, velvet chaise placed under the covered walkway in one of the palace’s many inner courtyards. It was the Blue Sea Moon at the height of summer, and Dorothea was dressed in only a light satin gown as was befitting of the weather. Edelgard had been drinking in the sight of her greedily as they had talked, running her eyes along every curve and every inch of exposed skin, and Dorothea allowed her. She always had, mainly, Edelgard thought, because Edelgard never asked her for anything more. “I was only joking about being fed cheese and grapes. I’ll buy something at market after I leave for the day; there’s no need to bother yourself over me.”

Edelgard scowled, distracted from her thoughts and now choking back the indignation that threatened to rise from her chest and up through her throat in the form of a heated reproach. “Dorothea, these people are paid handsomely to do as I ask. If you’re hungry, then the least I could do is offer you something to eat.”

“Which I acknowledge,” she said, unmoving from her casual position on the chaise, “and which I refuse.”

“I won’t ask them to feed you,” Edelgard pressed, knowing all too well Dorothea’s displeasure at the idea of preferential treatment. “But I don’t see you nearly often enough to consider allowing you to starve in my own home. Now, I insist, and if I must be perceived as selfish for doing as much, then so be it.”

Dorothea appeared to consider this, eyes scanning the Emperor’s face intently. “All right,” she said with a smile. “I’ll be good and let you, this time. I wouldn’t want to ruin the Empire’s reputation for flawless hospitality. But on one condition…”

“Um,” said Edelgard, “and what would that be?”

“I want you to feed me. Since you’re always claiming to be an Emperor of the people, and all.” She leaned forward and winked.

This time, Edelgard actually choked. Her face flushed. When she managed to work her tongue around a coherent thought, she responded, “That was a joke as well, wasn’t it?”

Dorothea shrugged. There was something positively devilish about the motion. “I’ll more than happily feed myself. For a moment you just looked as if you wanted it.”

“To _feed_ you?” Edelgard looked around. There was one bored-looking guard standing by the doorway that led back inside the palace, and two maidservants walking together on the other side of the courtyard. She was sure that most of the veteran palace staff knew of the Emperor’s… proclivities, her absolute and virtually embarrassing lack of a sex life, and her general refusal to admit attraction to anyone that might have drawn her interest, as a natural consequence of being thoroughly, hopelessly sexually repressed. Her father had had no less than four separate consorts. The Emperor was expected to have many lovers, not just one, and despite her imperfections, Edelgard knew that she was still considered beautiful in many ways. She must have seemed a veritable ascetic compared to her predecessor: frigid, impotent, infertile and infirm, inhibited despite her strength and passionless despite her power.

It was ridiculous. Edelgard had had one positive sexual experience of which she would not tell another soul, but the rest were restricted to mere, foolish fantasies. Edelgard was still small, still insecure, still woman, and it was harder for her, she supposed, to go out and take what and whom she wanted in such a sense. Her desires still filled her with shame, at times; a part of her still wanted to believe that everything she was doing was wrong. If she had wanted to feed Dorothea—and now that Dorothea put the idea in her head, she couldn’t help herself from turning it over where it now lay—then so be it. She would happily indulge them both, and maybe she’d get to touch Dorothea’s mouth—get to touch her at all, instead of restricting herself to only staring—and maybe Dorothea would want to taste her, and not just the food, maybe she wasn’t imagining things when Dorothea flirted with her; maybe Dorothea was just being unusually shy because Edelgard was the Emperor and wanted her back just as badly and she had been overthinking their relationship all along.

“If you want me to do it,” she said, rising imperiously from her seat, “then I’ll do it.” She fixed Dorothea with the most commandeering expression she could muster, fully expecting her to start laughing in Edelgard’s face so she could shrink back into her seat in mortification and forget this ever happened.

Dorothea’s eyes went wide, and the rest of her body became very still as she pondered whether to lift herself up off of the chaise or not. She stayed that way for a few seconds, frozen mid-flight. She opened her mouth as if to speak, and Edelgard felt a wholly depraved sense of satisfaction when no words came out.

Dorothea blushed. “I could never—” she started, and then she caught herself, thinking. Of course, this must have seemed a thoroughly unexpected thing for Edelgard to say, practically an admission of her desire when she had never given voice to it before.

Edelgard’s face felt very hot. Her knees felt strangely weak. But she stood her ground, nevertheless. Damn her detractors. She was just as sinful as the lot of them—would be.

Then Dorothea smiled, and Edelgard recognized with a horrible sinking feeling in her chest what that smile was meant to signify. Was she not desirable enough? No, that couldn’t be… Then, perhaps, she had made some sort of social gaffe. Perhaps this was the wrong time to challenge Dorothea’s beliefs.

“Fuck,” she breathed. Her mind was awash with theories, conclusions, possible resolutions to the error she had just made—a minor upset in their tightly-bound relationship, but a troubling one, nonetheless. She had had to learn so much, and so quickly, Edelgard thought to herself, as the seconds ticked away and embarrassment swelled in her throat, that even when she thought she knew what she should be doing she couldn’t recall what it was when she needed it.

“I’m sorry,” Dorothea said.

 _Fucking ruined it_ , Edelgard thought.

“I didn’t mean to push.”

She knew Dorothea wouldn’t betray her thoughts any more than that. This wasn’t a conversation for the outdoors, either. Edelgard glanced back to the guard standing near the doorway.

“You,” she snapped, “stop standing there and get my friend something to eat. Your feet are going to swell if you don’t move.”

The guard saluted—a consummate professional. “At once, Your Majesty.” Then he went back inside the palace.

Then Edelgard sat heavily back down in her seat. “Goddess.” She buried her face in her hands. “You’re going to kill me one of these days, Dorothea.”

Dorothea was silent.

“No, Edie…” she began, and then petered off. “It’s not you, it’s just… I mean… OK, maybe it is you—but I’m just not…” She was quiet again. Edelgard heard shifting as she seated herself upright. “I should have realized. I’m sorry.”

Edelgard said nothing in response. She realized, belatedly, that she was crying, and quickly wiped the tears from her face.

“It was always going to be complicated,” Dorothea continued. “I’d figured as much… so that was why… Shit,” she hissed under her breath. “I’m sorry. You don’t need this right now. I’ll stop.”

“You’ll stop?” Edelgard stared at her. “Stop what?”

“I’ll stop with the flirting.” She glanced away, an exhausted look in her eyes. “Don’t you see? I’m being cruel to you.”

“I… I don’t understand,” Edelgard said numbly. “What?” Maybe she had been more wrong about Dorothea than she realized. Did she like her or not? Was she secretly a spy for an enemy nation? What was she even apologizing for?

“We can’t be together.”

“Why not?”

Dorothea gestured helplessly at her. “Because, you’re, well… you! And I’m me, and situations like these never turn out well.”

“According to whom?” Edelgard placed a hand at the back of her chair, primed to stand up and catch Dorothea if she might flee. “Novels? Operas? Stories that aren’t even real?”

Dorothea did, in fact, stand. “You don’t understand, Edie.”

“I don’t understand only because you won’t tell me. Ugh…” Edelgard bristled with frustration. “What’s wrong? This has to be the second or third time I’ve had to ask.”

There it was—she began to step away.

This time, Edelgard caught her. She seized her wrist with a grip that could have bruised, unwilling to let her go. “Please, Dorothea. You’re fulfilling every one of the stereotypes your occupation as an opera singer would have you be. I mean…” she shut her eyes and opened them again, “you’re being melodramatic.”

“How many times have I watched you almost die?”

“Do I look dead to you?”

“I…” She shook her head, shaking her occupied arm. “I can’t. I can’t do this.”

So, Edelgard thought, she was being cast away like all of Dorothea’s other suitors. She couldn’t fault Dorothea for being so fearless.

Edelgard let go.

Dorothea massaged her wrist, and stared back at her, despondent.

“Then, go,” said Edelgard. “Leave a glittering trail of tears in your wake. Tell everyone how you rebuffed the almighty Emperor’s romantic advances. I’m sure it’d make for quite a tale back at the opera house.”

Her tearful expression morphed into a glare. “Why you…”

Edelgard folded her arms. “I’m done with the theatrics, Dorothea. I mean it. You know what this is, and you know what to do about it.” She gestured to the space between them. “I’m not stupid,” she said, more earnestly, “so please stop treating me like one of your asinine suitors.” _I love you_ , she wanted to say, but bit it back. “Either end what we have or don’t, but stop making a fool out of me, and stop fucking running away.” She glared into the floor tiles, holding back tears. Damn this. And damn her. “I’ve had a lot of time to consider what you told me about losing interest in all your other suitors, and if I’ve drawn the wrong conclusions, then just tell me.” She looked at her. “Tell me how to fix this. What did I do wrong? Please.”

Dorothea wrung her hands. It was an interesting nervous habit. “I… Um… Edie…”

“Should I apologize for being attracted? For reaching out to you? For making friends? I don’t even know anymore.”

“You have nothing to apologize for—”

“Then why do I feel as if I’m always being ignored?” Edelgard’s chest heaved. She rubbed a hand over her face, willing herself to calm down. “I know you have your misgivings. About your childhood and about being orphaned.” Did they ever even talk about it? She didn’t remember; she learned so many things from Hubert or from their intelligence department that she hadn’t even wanted to learn from them that she’d stopped caring about the source as long as the information was accurate. “I know it’s… probably uncomfortable to have the most powerful person in Fódlan pursuing you, given your past. Maybe you don’t want that. Or me.” She groaned. “You know what? Forget it.” The hand dropped from her face. “You obviously don’t want me. You’ve already said as much, and it’s written all over your face.”

“Edie…”

She sat back down. “At least let’s wait until the guard comes back.”

Dorothea sat down as well, mirroring her. She looked nonplussed. “Um…”

Her eyes kept darting away from Edelgard and back. Edelgard wasn’t even wearing her crown, and yet her head felt as though she’d had it on all day. Pressure crushed her temples. She would give Dorothea food and send her away. It had been a mistake to lose control, but the problem could be rectified. She would hire some obscenely expensive prostitute. Maybe they’d make better company, even. Or at least they would argue less. She didn’t have the time for this; she was the Emperor of Fódlan, after all. She didn’t have time to spend bickering over her feelings with someone who wasn’t even willing to return them. Wasted effort in exchange for a foregone conclusion. She regretted not asking the guard for a bottle of wine along with the food. Maybe it would lighten the heavy silence that had started to stretch between them.

“Edie,” Dorothea said again, sharp enough to draw Edelgard’s attention.

“What is it?” she asked, impatient. “And whatever you do, please don’t apologize again—”

“No, you’re right. I wasn’t treating you at all fairly. My feelings for you… are a… little complex,” she admitted. “To go with your status, I mean. If you were some peasant girl I don’t think I’d have nearly as much to mull over.”

Edelgard blinked.

“I’d always told myself I would have to refuse you, because, well… I mean,” she laughed, “how could it work out? I know you keep promising this and that, but I’ve met a lot of people like you, Edie—not nearly as pretty or refined or intelligent, and none as doggedly ambitious—but these people have their heads in the clouds, and they have money and power… and they squander it. And they say it’ll go somewhere and it just vanishes into the ether, and they say it’ll help the people I care about and it doesn’t, and they’re a fat load of fucking bullshit, is what they are. You are far from the first to promise me anything, Edie, and you aren’t the first to mean it, either. But how can I believe you when life has taught me to only expect disappointment from the rich and powerful?”

Edelgard opened her mouth to speak, but Dorothea continued, “I… I fought for you. I bled for you. I didn’t even believe you. I thought you were just some pompous royal brat like all the rest, even when you were amassing an army and overthrowing the old government and plunging the whole continent into a full-scale war. I joined you because everyone else did. I wasn’t naive enough to think you, the Emperor of Adrestia, would personally do anything for me. I thought… Here’s what I thought,” she said. “I thought I would write an opera singing your praises, and that gesture would be convincing enough for you to be lenient and not hunt me down whenever I did something that inconvenienced you in the slightest.”

“I would never—”

“You don’t know me,” Dorothea said. Her voice was shaky, desperate. “Who can afford to be generous when food and resources are scarce? No one. The rich will hold onto everything they have with everything that they have. Why? Because they’re afraid to lose it. People who are rich stay rich because they refuse to give their wealth away. Generous people are not rich. Powerful people are not kind. I’ve seen it, Edie. People who have barely enough to feed themselves will offer food to those starving on the streets, because they understand what it means to be in that position. What you want to do is… it’s very thoughtful, believe me; I don’t think you’re greedy or self-centered in the least. But even if you seized the collective wealth of all the nobles in Fódlan and redistributed it among the common folk, you won’t change the way the world works. Someone is going to get rich, and stay rich. Someone is going to become poor, and stay poor.”

“And that’s reason enough for me to stop trying?”

“No,” said Dorothea, “no, I just…” She looked away, sheepish. “I couldn’t bring myself to love someone like that. I know you’re trying to make things better, but I… I struggle to be convinced. Which must seem absurd, I know, considering I’m here now, telling you all of this. When I was younger—much, much younger—I used to have fantasies of being swept off my feet by a strong, kind, handsome nobleman. I thought they couldn’t all be bad. And then you came along, and…” She paused.

The wait was agonizing. She couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not.

“That was long after I’d written you all off as a lost cause.”

Edelgard exhaled.

“You might not love me after a while anymore, you know?” Dorothea still looked away, even though she was addressing her directly. “You’re so busy, and you meet so many new people, and you have all these other things on your mind, and all I ever do is think about myself, and when I’m old and graying and my voice is no longer worthy of praise, you’ll just find someone young and bright-eyed and new to distract you while you go along remaking the whole world in your image. And I’ll deserve it, for being… nothing. No one. An assortment of qualities that will become undesirable, over time, when all the adoring gazes finally turn into looks of scorn. I won’t be of much use to you once I’m old, so I might as well…”

“Stop.” Edelgard had stood up and grabbed her shoulders and spoke in a particular tone of voice that she had only ever before used on Hubert, Ferdinand, and horses, and looked her in the eyes. “You’re babbling nonsense now, so just stop. And I’m not saying this as the Emperor; I’m only saying this as your friend, so… Please.” She shut her eyes, and took a deep breath, and opened them again. “I’m only one person, Dorothea. I can’t stop you from being a cynic. And I can’t promise you that I’ll be everything that you want me to be. But if that’s your reason—really and truly, if that’s the only reason that you deny yourself this, then at least allow me to tell you that I—”

Dorothea pulled her down and kissed her. “Shut up.” She froze in place, and when Dorothea began moving her lips Edelgard moved hers in response, and despite everything Dorothea had told her they were very definitely kissing. “You’re better when you’re quiet,” she said between breaths, “so shut up.” Her expression was indecipherable—reluctance and desire melded with regret and relief, and she grasped at Edelgard’s shirt, forcing her body to fold over the chaise, and her hands began to roam Edelgard’s waist—but the longer Edelgard thought about it the more she wondered whether she had unwittingly asked Dorothea to give voice to emotions for which she had no words at all.

Maybe she was overthinking this, she thought, as her mind began to spin from the feeling of Dorothea’s hands everywhere on her. Maybe she should have just asked her for sex outright.

“Your Majesty.”

Edelgard pulled away. Her face was burning. She didn’t even bother attempting eye contact with the guard; she simply took the plate covered in cheese and grapes and honeyed figs and set it before Dorothea, who stared at her.

“I forgot about this,” said Dorothea.

Edelgard plucked a grape off the plate and glanced at it. “Allow me to remind you, then.” She placed the grape between her teeth, and leaned in.

Then again, she thought, pressed against Dorothea on a summer’s day and tasting nothing but ambrosia on her tongue… Maybe not.

**Author's Note:**

> You can practically _feel_ that Dorothea is on the verge of a confession in their A support and it bothered me so much that I wrote this. No, she doesn't confess here either, but she offers several excuses as to why she can't which coming from her is practically the same thing.
> 
> I think they both have a tendency to overthink things to the point that it paralyzes them, and the solution I came up with is to make them shut up and kiss. You can be the judge of how well that worked...


End file.
